Vodka and Ice
by Yorgi'sBitch
Summary: How Yorgi and Yelena first met and how her cover was blown.
1. Chapter 1

VODKA AND ICE 

by Yorgi'sBitch 

Disclaimer: Sony and Revolution Studios own everything. Except Yorgi. I'm stealing him. Haha! :D Just kidding. 

A/N: This takes place two years before TripleX. It's about how Yorgi and Yelena first meet. You know, romance, the smaltzy stuff. Some bad language. For the record, I know Kirill isn't Yorgi's brother but I wrote this based on observations I made about the movie. 

The hypnotic music was deafening. Yelena wasn't used to the club scene. She was a career woman, level-headed, twenty-five and too old for this. _This shit!_ She cursed. But she had fought for this assignment because she believed in her country and its struggle to the capitalist upgrade. Unlike Anarchy 99. _A bunch of fucking hypocrites. Red Army, Mother Russia, dying for rebel Chechnyans and hating it. All they care about is money. That was not the Kremlin's idea in the old days._ And she would bring them down. Whatever intel the Russian Intelligence Agency wanted, she would get. But first she'd have to get inside Yorgi's elitist clique. She didn't really know how yet. Getting into character was a lot harder than she thought it would be. 

Kirill blew a smoke-ring into the crowd below the private lounge, situated on a set of elevated platforms reminiscent of low-budget 60s sci-fi. The Czech club-scene of the late 90s. The thin cigarette hung delicately from his yellowing fingers. _Woman. Pretty woman._ He was scanning the crowd for one, but not the usual female frequenters of his brother's clubs. She must be extraordinary. Different would do. As long as she looked a little strange, exciting. It seemed to suit him and his freakish personality which made a man like Viktor shudder and his own brother issue a warning. Kirill blew another smoke-ring and watched it float down, widening as the blue-grey wisp expanded and broke up, framing the face of a dark-haired woman pushing through the crowd. She stood out because she was older than the other clubbers. Shorter, too, and her make-up wasn't garish or clown-like. Her plainness among the clubbers was refreshing. And exciting. Sharp green eyes followed her towards the chill-out room with military-like alertness and within seconds he was moving towards the club floor. 

"Your brother has seen something he likes," Viktor remarked with a bemused nod of the head. 

"I pity the girl," Yorgi muttered with a disgusted curl of his bottom lip. He shook his head and threw back a shooter. The booze might have reawakened his senses, because he added, "Viktor, go make sure he does not cause trouble for her. And us." Fresh in his mind was Kirill's obsessive handling of Mischa, that stupid slut from Kiev who turned out to be a transvestite, who threatened to lay a charge of assault and sue the club. Until Yorgi had paid him/her compensation and told him/her to shut her mouth. 

Viktor grunted an affirmative. 

Yelena needed her thoughts to regroup. If she could endure the rest of the night she might find herself among the fifty or so girls who comprised Yorgi's harem. That was probably her best bet at getting close to him, she reckoned. As long as she wasn't too obvious. She didn't think Yorgi was impressed with girls: the sluts prostituting themselves for his dirty money. If she could prove useful to him in some other way at least she had a chance. That was the plan. 

Kirill wasn't part of the plan, and he was standing in the doorway of the chill room, it's décor sterile blue. Empty except for Yelena. He raised the cigarette to his lips, took a drag and exhaled. "You're new." 

Yelena turned calmly, eyeing him with subtle suspiciousness. She knew who he was at once. Of all the anarchists in Yorgi's crime ring, Kirill was the only one whose appearance had remained loyal to the Russian army. And as ugly as in his photo. This was her lucky break – or so she thought. "What?" 

"I know all the regular girls," Kirill continued, leaning against the doorframe. "But this is the first time I'm seeing you here. You're new." His words were edged with a question. 

"Yes, this is my first time in club … _This_ club," Yelena fumbled and cursed herself mentally, "I mean." Why was she so nervous? This wasn't her first field assignment. 

"You are Russian?" 

"What makes you say that?" 

"You have Russian accent. Not like other girls. They're all Czech here. They have Czech accents." He smiled. 

_What a creep._ Kirill's eyes danced over her in hungry, lustful way. An uncomfortable silence followed and then he pushed away from the frame and meandered further inside, towards her. His left hand was in his pocket, the other still supported his cigarette, burnt almost down to the butt. 

"I am Kirill." 

Yelena forced a tight smile. "I am Yelena." 

Kirill's teeth came into view as his smile widened to a discomforting grin. "A pretty name. Yelena." He paused and frowned slightly. "You _are_ woman, right?" 

"Yes." _Weird, too,_ Yelena thought. 

"Good." Satisfied, Kirill came a little closer and seated himself opposite her on a pale blue couch. "Would you like a cigarette?" 

Yelena didn't usually smoke, but she was willing to go along with this pervert if it meant getting close to Yorgi. And after all, who better to win over than the little brother? She nodded gratefully. "Please," and leaned forward. 

The ex-Russian military man placed a cigarette carefully between her lips and lit it. Yelena was careful not to inhale, but that damn smoke was not enough of a distraction from Kirill's searching eyes as they removed each item of clothing in his head. One by one. When she thought he must imagine her naked, he asked, "How long are you here for?" 

"Is permanent." This pleased Kirill to no end and he traced his fingers over her left thigh. _Little bastard. If you were not Yorgi's brother I would smack you._

The thing about Kirill is that his assumption of women extended no further than what they were like in Yorgi's clubs, no matter how different they looked. That and he craved the kind of attention his brother got from them. To be the centre of one girl's attention and allow him to return the favour whether it was opening the car door for her or fucking her. 

"You are career woman?" By which he meant an upmarket whore. 

Yelena didn't catch this. Text book criminals were one thing in the notes. Adjusting to their nuances in the practical world was still something she needed to learn how to do. "I work in bank in Moscow. When Rubel devalued, bank close and I lose job. More opportunities in Czech Republic. Less shit from their government." She hoped she was making an impression on his anarchist's brain. "Is only more shit. So I party until money runs out. Life is shit, but what can you do?" 

But it wasn't her sad life-story that amused Kirill. In fact he'd barely heard her. With the kind of panther-like grace that was better suited to his taller, more handsome brother he rose and hooked an arm around her waist. The fake smile on Yelena's face lost all charm and she frowned, trying to back up instinctively. He wouldn't let her. Instead he pressed his nicotine lips to hers, using his tongue to crow-bar them apart. Yelena's agent training took over and she pressed her cigarette into his neck, delivering a swift kick to the groin. But Kirill had seen something he liked and lust and love were all the same to him. As he went down he grabbed her ankle and pulled her to the floor with him, clambering on top of her. _No! This is not part of being agent!_

It was at this point that Viktor chose to intervene. The fun was over and his boss would be pissed. "Kirill!" He yelled and pulled out a firearm. That was all the filthy bastard understood anyway. 

Out of the corner of her dark eyes, Yelena saw the gun. Using her heel she shoved Kirill off of her and reached into her purse. Within seconds her own side-arm was levelled and the barrel shared both men's forehead's for a nice clean shot. 

"Okay, little girl," Viktor began, lowering his weapon. "I am not going to shoot you. I shoot him." He indicated Kirill with a nod of his head. "So relax and put gun down." 

Yelena scrambled to her feet. She was angry for acting like a rookie agent and allowing herself to be spooked like that, but there was nothing for it now. Maybe there was still a chance to recover the situation and worm her way into Yorgi's presence by threatening to sue the bastard. _But this is Yorgi. You do not kick his brother in the balls and live to brag about it back in Moscow._ She glanced at Kirill who was massaging his cigarette-burned neck and looked ashamed with himself. Which was more disturbing because she could see there was still a glint in his eyes as if to say: _You are beautiful woman and I love you. So I forgive you._ This just pissed Yelena off. 

"He is pig!" She yelled, deliberately letting the gun tremble along with her hand. Ex-military would smell her cool otherwise. "_You_ are pig!" She screamed at Viktor. 

"They are both pigs." 

A third voice entered the room and Yelena's gun had itself a new target. Yorgi stood calmly, hands clasped behind his back enduring the pistol barrel. Behind him Kolya had ordered the nosey crowd nearest the chill room back to its business of having fun and was guarding the entrance with a semi-automatic. 

"Kiri, I thought we talked about this," Yorgi said calmly, his eyes trained on Yelena and her gun. 

Kirill began to make an excuse, but he was cut short by Yorgi's stern order for silence. "My brother is filthy bastard, but he is still my brother. I must make apology for him." 

Yelena asked with feigned ignorance. "You are owner of club?" 

"Dah." 

At which she lowered the gun and dealt her trump card. Or at least what she assumed would endear her more to Yorgi than the timid female repertoire and a lawsuit. "Your club stinks! If I want to be raped I can walk down any alley. You waste my time and money! You are lucky I do not shoot them." Snatching her purse, and stuffing her gun inside she made for the entrance. Kolya blocked her way. 

"Where are you going?" Yorgi asked pointedly, though he didn't face her. If she was going to the police she would have to be dealt with. She certainly seemed capable of it. 

"Home! What do you think? Your pigs have spoiled my evening! Now tell this one to get out of my way." She glared at the towering Kolya. 

Yorgi tried not to smile, but this woman was fresh air. He could hear she was Russian, not only by her accent but by her "bite me" attitude all Russians seemed to have adopted after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the economic plunge. It reminded him of home. "Viktor!" 

Obediently, Viktor came and produced a wad of money. American dollars. A shit-load of money anywhere in Eastern Europe. They'd rehearsed this before with Mischa. Yorgi began counting bills under his breath in Russian and held them out at arm's length for Yelena. "Here. Take. For wasting your time and money. It will not happen again, I assure you." 

"You're damn right it will not happen again. Keep your filthy money," Yelena snubbed the gift of compensation. "I'm not coming back to this stinking club." 

Even Viktor who would not hit a woman for the love of his mother looked indignant at Yelena's attitude. Only Yorgi looked amused. "Where do you work?" 

Yelena was waiting impatiently for Kolya to move his large frame out of her line of departure. "What? So your pigs can cause trouble for me at work?" 

Kirill was the only one who knew what Yorgi was getting at and it suited him fine. So he said, "She doesn't have work. She used to work in a bank." 

Yelena glared at him, but glaring at Yorgi seemed like a bad idea. "You need the money. Take it. And when you run out, come back for more." 

"So your brother can grab me again? Ha! _You_ are biggest pig of them all. I am nobody's whore." This time she forced her way past Kolya and hoped Yorgi would do what she thought he would. Her gutsy display of "I don't give a fuck" had made an impression on Yorgi's brain, which only understood two types of women: the slut and the respectable kind, like mothers and sisters and business partners. 

"I give you job!" Yorgi had to raise his voice above the deep-trance music. The crowd closed around Yelena and she looked back past flailing arms and rotating necks. Yorgi was looking at her. She allowed herself to study him for the first time. He was different from his military ID photo. His hair was longer and he had days worth of stubble masquerading as a goatee. Tall, dark and handsome. Which was probably why Russian Intelligence had wanted a woman to go. 

Shoving a punk-kid out of her way she returned to the chill room. "What job?" 

"Bank job. Handling accounts. Your kind of job," Yorgi said. 

Pretending to think it over cautiously, Yelena asked, "Salary?" 

"How much are you wanting?" 

"A lot," Yelena snapped. _A lot more than Russian agent pay-check._

Yorgi snapped his fingers and sent Kolya for a pen and paper. Clearly he was not going to discuss salary around the others unless he wanted to come across as pussy-favouring. 

"And benefits?" Yelena demanded, lifting her chin arrogantly, although her arms were folded across her chest insecurely. 

_Little girl playing with big boys is not so easy,_ Yorgi noted. _But is more fun. Especially if little girl plays just as dirty._ How she'd gotten a gun into his club was still a source of annoyance, but he admired her for it. If she was packing she'd fit in perfectly. 

"Everything your little heart desires …?" 

"Yelena." 

"Yelena," Yorgi repeated her name, savouring it and giving Kirill a wary look when he tried to savour it too. "I am Yorgi." 

"Well, Yorgi, my little heart desires a lot. I want car and place to stay. Not shitty apartment with no heating." 

Yorgi smiled at her innocence. Or lack of creativeness. Still it was more than any whore had ever wanted of him. "I give you ten cars. And you live in castle. And I protect you from my brother." 

The last benefit was a joke at Kirill's expense. The younger of them even smiled and lit up another cigarette. But Yorgi was far more subtle than Russian Intelligence made him out to be. That was the difference between Russian black ops and those grunts running around the pathetic post-Cold War army. Yorgi liked Yelena. More than he cared to realise right away. Because she was cold and a bitch and Russian. And Kirill had a point, she was a beautiful woman. But while he might toy with the idea of being her lover he couldn't. This was business. And anyway, she seemed pecuniacentric. 

Kolya returned with a pen. No paper. Yorgi wrote the figure in the palm of his hand and showed it to her, watching appreciatively as her black-eye-liner-rimmed eyes widened. "You like?" 

"Very much." Yelena looked up at him as his palm closed and he rubbed his hands together to smudge the ink, leaving Viktor and Kolya to wonder about the sum. 

"Then everything is in order. Come my dear. Now we party." He slipped his arm around her shoulder and escorted her to the private lounge. 

To be continued 

A/N: Yeah. The next chapter will also be the last. It's sort of the conclusion about how exactly Yorgi falls for Yelena and finds out she's a Russian agent. Poor Yorgi :\ He's not evil, just misunderstood. *gives Yorgi a hug* 


	2. Chapter 2

VODKA AND ICE 

by Yorgi'sBitch 

Disclaimer: Sony and Revolution Studios own everything. Except Yorgi. I'm stealing him. Haha! :D Just kidding. 

A/N: It's Thursday and I keep my promises. Did I say this would be my last chapter? I was wrong. There's just too much detail to cram into two chapters. Thanks for helping me with my Russian Katya! 

The Czech night swallowed the snow-capped peaks as they swooshed, motionless beside the moving black BMW 360i as it wound up the mountain pass en convoy. Yelena leaned against the window staring at the ice-covered road and watching Yorgi, his image reflected by the headlights of the car behind. He was watching her and pretending not to, using the opportunity to size her up the way she had been doing all night as they sat in his private lounge. 

"You are very quiet tonight, Yelena," Yorgi observed. His eyes oozed confidence and he made a point of staring her down. 

In return she shot him an icy, threatening look. But she relented and returned to staring out the window. _This is a test. He wants to see how many buttons he can push. Let him push buttons - that way he will not suspect I am Russian agent. But not too many or he will not think I am up to the challenge._ "Your pigs ruin it for me," she said sulkily. Almost at once a mischievous smile crept onto her face and she said, "But I also get job. Now where are you taking me? It's getting early!" 

"To castle." Yorgi gestured ahead, indicating that Yelena take her scepticism and have a look for herself. 

Two or three miles up ahead, the Prussian-style villa came into view, lit up against the jagged crags of the mountains. It wasn't really a castle in the true sense of the word. The Renaissance had refined its features and turned it into a stately manor. Yelena was sitting on the edge of her seat, peering over the passenger seat. "You really have castle?" 

Kirill's third swig of vodka straight from the bottle had produced enough poetry concerning Yelena to fill an anthology and bore Viktor into a slumbering stupor. He'd called her everything from "my love" to _ledjanaja printsessa_ - "ice princess". "Yorgi, Yorgi," he had said (drunkenly), grabbing a fistful of his brother's collar as they both stood in the men's room taking a piss, "she kicked me in the balls. Doesn't that _mean_ something?" 

Yorgi wasn't jealous. Kirill didn't stand a chance. But at least he approved of all the names his brother had given Yelena. Especially now as she sat back against the seat, slouching a little. 

"You are not pig," she said smugly. "You are frog." The Russian mobster's guarded, somewhat self-conscious smile was carefully concealed. The driver glanced at his boss through the rear-view mirror trying to ascertain whether or not this upstart of a slut would get away with such name-calling. Yorgi said, "I take that as compliment." 

Snorting with disapproval and settling into character, Yelena nodded towards the castle. "Why do you live so far from capital?" Her dark eyes swept over the intense security: gunman in nests along the walls, their machine guns trained on the road, and vigilant camera eyes panning back and forth. "Is this to impress girls?" No less than thirty club-heads were pouring up the steps, escorted by men of Kolya and Viktor's calibre. 

"Nyet." Yelena's attention was momentarily distracted as the driver opened the door for her. When her alert eyes touched on Yorgi again, he was leaning over her, whispering, "For privacy. I am careful businessman." 

_Ha, businessman! There is euphemism. This place is like Svetnya. We are only short one James Bond. Three clubs can hardly support this._ Yelena followed Yorgi up the cascading marble staircase, flanked by Kolya. Below, in the courtyard Kirill lit up another cigarette, his vodka-swimming eyes feeding lustily off Yelena. Already she could foresee a problem with him. His sexual fetish was the least of her worries, of course, but his undivided attention would make her investigation difficult and put pressure on her to maintain her cover. He had known Yorgi thirty years longer than he knew her. Pussy or not, thirty years was thirty years. And family. And blood. He wouldn't hesitate to expose her lie. 

For the moment, however, she sensed Yorgi's charm with her so she was hardly surprised when he summoned one of the painted faces to him and instructed her to show Yelena her room. "Tomorrow we talk business. Now is time for bed." His grin concealed a trick, Yelena was convinced. He didn't trust her yet. Of course not. The Russian government didn't underestimate him, she mustn't. "Go with Katya. She will tuck you in." Again that smile. Yelena would make a note to analyse it, but she was already being escorted deeper into the castle by the tall blond. 

"Kiri." 

Kirill was leaning against a fresco, stunted fingers peeping out from an overcoat and holding a burning cigarette. Barely ackowledging his brother, he followed the click of Yelena's heels as they disappeared down the tiled corridor. His head swam a little and his face turned to the ceiling. Naked cherubs were frollicking among the clouds and 17th-century angels were strumming harps. "My angel," he whispered and looked to his better half. "What?" 

"Background check." And he nodded, indicating Yelena. 

"She is nice girl, Yorgi. She works in a bank." 

"Would not be so nice if she turns out to be FSB agent." 

Viktor overheard the conversation and smacked the ass of one of his pierced bitches as she reached for the bottle of booze he was drinking from. "We would've smelled her agent pussy already. Hahaha!" His deep laugh echoed in the cavern-like hall. Kirill grinned, but complied obediently, pushing off. No sleep tonight. But at least he must spend it researching his beautiful Yelena. 

"What you want me to do? Make sure she doesn't _spy_?" Viktor was recovering from his outburst, sobering because Yorgi looked amused by something. His henchman wanted in on the joke. 

"Nyet," he replied, judging the selection of women crooning for his attention. "Make sure my brother does not interfere." 

The heavy-set Russian's appearance counted against him often shrewd mind. "With what? Yelena?" A guttural worked its way from his protruding stomach. "What? She is yours?" 

But Yorgi was bored with his tasteless comrade and wouldn't answer except with a wry smirk that left nothing to the imagination. He slept alone for the first time in many nights.   
  
  
  


"Yorgi says I must put you to bed," Katya purred, entering the high-ceilinged bedroom a step in front of Yelena. 

Oozing sex and husky Eatern European charm, the woman - girl (she couldn't even be twenty yet) - sat delicately on the dark coverlet, legs crossed. A supermodel smile and then she patted the fabric beside her. 

Yelena's lower lips curled. "Get out. I don't need to be 'tucked in'." 

"I do it for Yorgi. He wants me to do this. Now come sit." 

The Russian agent stared in disbelief. _Stupid slut._ This was most likely the trick she'd been suspecting. Yorgi was going to try and throw her off again. The same way he had tried to unsettle her when she asked one too many questions. "Get out!" She yelled, pointing to the door with her purse. 

Katya's eyes narrowed: a message all women everywhere understood and shared. The word "bitch" was exchanged and the attractive bell-hop left indignantly. The door clicked shut. Quickly Yelena searched the room with her eyes. No cameras. Maybe microphones; they were easier to conceal. Yorgi would try to find out about her. A single window, the frame gilded and chipping, opened out onto an abandoned court. Her room must be situated in the west wing. _Temporary. Until he figures me out. Then he moves me someplace better. For now I am just observing._

Still in one night she had learned more about Anarchy 99 than FSB has learned in the last three months. They suspected Yorgi's threat. He'd entered the Red Army in the back-burning days of the Cold War when Gorbachev and Reagan were mashing out their politics. Special Forces, that was Yorgi's choice. Kirill inevitably followed. The new democracy was a double standard: economic freedom and political turmoil. The now-anarchists had their wealth but they were choking on philosophical ideals. The Baltic states were full of shit. Like kids with guns and not knowing how to use them responsibly. "It is always this way with new system of government," her supervisor had told her. 

And Yorgi had been in Chechnya for months. Fighting in the mountains, trying to root out and destroy the rebel militants with limited resources. And every other day they were dying off like flies, defeated by the mountains and continuous gunfire and mortars from Grosny. Anarchy 99 was their dream, conjured up on cold nights under attack. Then on the eighteen-month troop cycle Yorgi and his "brothers" had gone AWOL and skipped the country. His superiors were wary of him and his training, worried that he could not be traced and had probably gone it alone. Yorgi was not the kind who worked for someone. His natural ability to lead meant the right, or wrong, people gravitated towards him. His superiors were right. Yorgi Zalesskij was more dangerous on his own. 

Yelena turned off the light and spied at the window. There was no movement in the abandoned courtyard below. A lone camera was fixed beneath a flood-light. Returning to the door, she peered through the keyhole. Outside Viktor was enjoying the sweet musings of one of the girls, seated in an antique chair. Fat chance of sneaking around. _Better get some sleep. Tomorrow is business._   
  
  
  


The watercolour sun touched the tattoo on Yorgi's pale skin, peeking from the dark polar-neck pullover as he frowned into the light, his dark eyes tinted hazel. Kirill's report was almost disappointing. 

"She's clean, Yorgi. I checked. Alexi ran her name through the database. Nothing. No Yelena. No Saransk. No agents matching her description. _Nothing._ She is just girl from Moscow, down on her luck." 

"Lots of women carry guns," Kolya interjected. "Even my sister." 

"Not in my club," Yorgi warned and was assured it would never happen again. "Only police bring guns into my club." 

"I am not cop." 

The testosterone near the security monitors turned as one. The subject of their conversation stood quietly, her hair a little ruffled and her coat draped over her hands where they met in her lap. "Now we discuss business? Or you argue about whether I am cop or not? Hurry up! I am busy girl. I have shopping to do." Behind her Viktor hobbled in, struggling with a hangover. 

No one believed for a second she was connected to law enforcement, be it Czech or Russian. Not even Yorgi. That was the beauty of her beauty. Yelena Saransk banished all the old concepts of even the most genius of Russian secret agents. She wasn't tall or leggy with voluptuous breasts. She wasn't aggressive and seductive. She was aggressive and pissy. Playing a confidence card when it was only a bluff and not expecting anyone to call it. Yelena was determined to stay independent while seeking opportunity by hunting with the pack. A lioness. 

The remaining ringleaders removed themselves at a silent command from Yorgi. Even Kirill who had recovered enough dignity to avoid Yelena's eyes. 

"How did you sleep, my dear?" 

Pulling a cynic's expression, Yelena snapped, "Fine, thank you. _Without_ Katya." 

"I am wondering how authentic is your act, so I send her. You have _yajtsa_, Yelena. Balls. I forget there are women like you. You are breath of fresh air." He inhaled deeply for effect and chortled at his weak humour. Turning away from her, he moved to a table decorated with liquor bottles. "Sit down. You want drink?" 

"What time is it?" Yelena did not sit. The light streaming through the wide window was stabbing and welcome at the same time. She wanted to bathe in the rays. It symbolised another world, on the outside, that she must leave behind if she wanted justice. _Viktor is not only one with headache._

Shrugging at the question, Yorgi wagered a guess. "Eleven, twelve. You get used to hours. Owning clubs is not lousy nine to five job. Is business all the time. You like to party?" 

"I _love_ to party. But I do not like headache. Ice." 

She let the cube melt in her mouth until it was a sliver and then she crushed it with her teeth, watching Yorgi who hadn't said a word. He was watching her, a glass of vodka in his hand. Suddenly he wagged a finger at her. "You are smart woman. You do not care for make-believe. The club scene is _dead_ in Praque. I am too old for that shit. But if clubheads want to give me their money, I take it. I like to make people happy, Yelena. Whatever they want, I get it for them, and they pay me American dollars. Czech police do not mind so much, and there is not so much competition as in Moscow. My business interests are still small here, but is getting bigger. Expansion is helped by corruption." He smiled just a little, teasing her with the subtleties. "You really work in bank?" 

"Dah. I manage accounts." 

"Then you manage mine." 

"For clubs?" Meaning his other interests included. 

_She still thinks I am petty criminal. Extortion, prostitution is all part of anarchy, where I spit in the face of bureaucratic shit, but freedom is expensive. I must buy mine. This is only means to an end._ Without saying a word, Yorgi rose and fetched a laptop from inside the security cage. He opened it and placed it sqaurely on Yelena's lap. On the monitor, listed alphabetically in Windows Explorer were the Excel files. "All accounts." 

Yelena swallowed the second cube hard, before it had even melted. She felt the ice scrape the back of her throat and travel uncomfortably down her oesophagus. _Jesus._ FSB had briefed her on the poor intel, the bits and pieces they knew or suspected of Yorgi's criminal activities. Small in Praque, maybe, but he had interests elsewhere. In the US even. And it wasn't just stolen goods. There was gun-running and pay-offs; in Russia. 

"You can do this, yes?" Yorgi asked, standing over her. For the first time since meeting him he looked truly anxious. As if he was thinking of what he would have to do with her if she declined. She wasn't Mischa. Already she knew too much. And he didn't want to have to shoot her. 

"You trust me?" Yelena's dark eyes, rimmed with smudged make-up, batted from the laptop to Yorgi. She pretended to chew her nail, pretended to toy with him to stay in her daring, sassy-ass character. 

Yorgi rested both his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning forward inches from her face. Yelena's pulse quickened, sensing a kind of sincere seductiveness that nauseated her as much as it excited her. Her palms were sweaty, but she must not look away. He would call her bluff then. Yorgi's mouth, ringed with the classic goatee and beard stubble, descended to hers. "I would very much like to, Yelena." 

Smiling, he straightened and turned away to pour himself another drink. Yelena exhaled mentally. "So we are in business?" 

"Dah," she replied and swallowed. Yorgi had only agreed to _try_ to give her a _chance_. 

His back was to her, so she did not see him close his eyes in his own show of relief as he looked into the glass he held to his chest. Yorgi downed the vodka in one mouthful. "One other thing." Here he faced her. "I want you to have dinner with me." 

"Dinner?" Yelena raised her brow skeptically. That didn't sound like the request of a crimelord, least of all one of Yorig's character. 

"Is invite from ... Russian business interest - now living in Prague. I give him job so his wife insists I must come. I cannot refuse. They are Georgian. _I_ am Georgian." Yorgi grinned deviously. "And he is smart, like you. He is scientist." 

That didn't mean anything to Yelena. She shrugged. "I have no plans for tonight." And that was it. She was in; Anarchy 99's newest member. 

To be continued 

A/N: Free advertising for Microsoft. But isn't Bill Gates the biggest anarchist of them all? :) Oh and I mentioned 3 clubs on purpose. I figure since Yorgi's just basically started out he wouldn't have amassed 6 yet. 


	3. Chapter 3

VODKA AND ICE 

by Yorgi'sBitch 

Disclaimer: Sony and Revolution Studios own everything. Except Yorgi. I'm stealing him. Haha! :D Just kidding. 

A/N: This is the second last chapter. NC-17 fics aren't allowed anymore. Sorry, I've had to edit this. This chapter kind of explains Yorgi's path in life. Contains some bad language. Thanks to Katya for spellchecking my Russian! 

Yelena did not leave Yorgi's side all day. It was true, what FSB was preaching: he was not an easy man to avoid. She must stick with him or risk losing vital information. Perhaps she only _wanted_ to be near him. During the day the whores vanished, escorted back to Praque where they would re-emerge with the rest of the club night-life. Yorgi obviously didn't practise favouritism, because security scrutinised her thoroughly, surprised by her presence. Granted, she had brothers, she was comfortable around the all-male clique, but Yorgi's presence was stifling. 

Viktor was sent to fetch her things. In fact she was expecting Yorgi to pursue his mistrust of her. During the day Yelena was careful to conceal her spy gadgets behind a cracked skirting board panel the ran along the wall behind the gas stove in her shitty little kitchen. All she had was a camera and a transmitting device. _Lousy government cutbacks._ But she remained edgy until Viktor came back. Later she would return from them. 

"Excel is piece of shit." Yelena was seated beside Yorgi in the black Audi squeezing through the narrow streets of Praque. Glaring purposefully at Kirill – his brother's bodyguard, minding his own business in the passenger seat except to glance innocently at her in the rear-view every once in a while, she said, "I have better suggestion. Is system in bank I work for, available in Russia to banks. You get me copy?" An expectant look found Yorgi's mysterious eyes. 

Somewhat taken aback by her matter-of-fact demand, Yorgi managed a smile. "I am happy to ask Alexi." _I am happy to rip my heart out and serve it to you on platter,_ he thought sarcastically. _Because you ask so_ nicely. 

"Who is scientist?" Yelena sensed his thoughts and pulled a tight unappreciative smile. 

"Dimitri Pelenov. He is chemist." 

"What? Are you planning to sell nuclear bomb?" As this was not unheard of among Russian opportunists, Yelena thought she might get away with the tease, but Yorgi frowned just a little. 

"What makes you think I was in army?" Only armed forces personnel would have access to black market Cold War weapons in the first place. 

"Your tattoo." Yelena's voice came calm and ready, but her heart skipped a beat. The slip of the tongue had almost cost her. She was beginning to fear every step forward she took to earn Yorgi's trust, she took two steps back. For effect, therefore, she touched the ink-injected skin peaking out of his shirt collar. Suspicions were tweaked, but the unfamiliar physical contact initiated by a woman with every intention of using brains above pussy surprised him. His hand caught hers and he raised to his lips. Yelena smiled and bit her lip as he kissed her fingers. "My brother has a tattoo like that. He is in army." Yelena snorted. "Also your brother has shitty army haircut. If he was in army, you were in army." 

Kirill had to smile at her derisive remark. The more it cut the more he loved her. Of course, what Yorgi felt was none of his business. 

"Your brother is in army?" Yorgi was suddenly interested. Yelena's left hand remained clasped in his. 

She drop-kicked her eyes uncomfortably towards the tinted window. The smell of her cooked-up story might be easier to conceal behind false pain. "Yes," she answered sharply, wishing the matter to be discontinued. Yes, she really _did_ have a brother in the Russian army, but he was a medical intern in Moscow. 

"What detachment?" 

"I don't know. They do not tell us. Only that he is in the Bolsoj Kavkaz." The mountains south of Grozny. 

"What is your brother's name?" Yorgi pried gently, remembering the times he had told mothers and sisters and young wives that their sons and brothers and husbands had died because of Yeltsin's fucking popularity politics. 

"What do you care?!" Yelena snapped viciously. "You left army, didn't you?" She plucked her hand from Yorgi's and folded it across her other, tucking them under her breasts. She sighed deeply and turned away from Kirill and Yorgi's almost empathetic eyes. "My brother was an idiot. He is dead now. That is what I beLieve. Is easier for all of us." 

Yelena was bound to that lie now. It was nowhere near the one she had planned to spin Yorgi. The less people she was linked to the better, that way it would be more difficult to prove her story counterfeit. But if anything it only endeared her more to Anarchy 99's mastermind. Yorgi unwound his arm along the leather-finish seat and clasped it around Yelena, coercing her rigid body against his. "Yelena, my sweet darling." He pressed his lips to her head. No emotion, only thinly-masked anger aimed at false ideals he could do nothing about. Not yet. "Dimitri will change all that," he said aloud. 

The undercover agent sulked. For show, and also because she was miserable. It was no longer necessary to win Yorgi's trust. Her slip of the tongue had won her that much and endeared her to him in more ways than she cared for. And on top of it she was about to have dinner with Georgians. They were pigs! They would gorge themselves and drink and swear all night! _And what does scientist have to do with Anarchy 99 anyway?_   
  
  
  
Dimitri Pelenov was a tall, padded man in his early thirties. His wife, Lilana, was a few years older, even taller and very beautiful. Yelena learnt that she had been an export model in the late 70s. She was cheerful and talkative, and lonely. The result of which meant that the Russian agent felt the need to maintain her precarious cover by making idle female chit-chat at the dinner table _and_ try and listen with half an ear to the male conversation. When that proved futile, she grit her teeth, forced a red-lipped grin and listened. 

The couple was indeed from Georgia, a republic that had once been a part of Mother Russia's unity. Awarded independence in 1992, the Soviet loyalists who could afford to make a run for it had fled the dawning economic nightmare. Many of the most respected inhabitants were scientists. For decades the Politburo had paid their salaries and asked nothing except that they work diligently in their labs to combat the American threat. Post-Cold War, there was no use for their services. Capitalist markets were not looking for engineers of death and destruction. They wanted cures and GM foods and clean fuels. 

Desperate, Dimitri dismissed the moral indecency of his actions. Starving was no fun. Yorgi had gone out of his way, even seeming to be more interested in their well-being than what Dimitri was offering to sell. So he had sold it and agreed to show Yorgi how to manufacture it, and use it. If be. 

"What was he selling?" Yelena asked with casual disinterest, lighting up one of Lilana's menthol cigarette's. 

Lilana shrugged. "I don't know. My husband is good lover, but boring man. He does not tell me what he works on and I do not ask. Clever." 

Yelena choked up a laugh and glanced over her shoulder towards the living room where the non-synchronised ululation of a Georgian drinking song was taking horrible shape. _Maybe is worse than FSB thinks._   
  
  
  
Sucking in her cheeks and leaning impatiently against the car door, Yelena watched Yorgi saying good night to his dinner hosts. Giving a half-hearted wave to Dimitri and Lilana, she reached two fingers inside her mouth and drew out a tiny white sphere. "They gave us mints. What kind of people give people mints?" 

"You don't like them?" Yorgi approached her with the intention of opening the door. 

"His wife is boring. And the food was shitty!" Turning on her heel, Yelena blocked Yorgi's extended hand and opened the door herself. "I thought you said this is business interest." 

"Must everything always be business with you, Yelena?" 

Pleased with what intelligence she had wheedled from Lilana, it was Yelena's turn to play the grumpy, dissatisfied anarchist that had made her Yorgi's new best friend. Tired and eager to report back to Moscow, it was not very difficult to fall into character. With a disgruntled snort at Yorgi's question, she closed her door and waited. Kirill emerged from the shadows, having lit a cigarette out of the chill draft. When he saw his brother leaning forward, arms folded across the roof of the Audi, he stopped short. "_Kakoi_?" What? 

"You get ride with Neo." 

The younger brother nodded, inhaling more deeply than usual on his cigarette. His nail-bitten hands shook just a little. Yelena was out of the question. 

The ice princess watched him retreat into the streetlamp's penumbra. A moment later Yorgi slid inside the car beside her, but she pretended to ignore him. With the driver present at least the atmosphere wasn't all that unbearable, but Yorgi's intense, searching eyes were on her. And she couldn't stand it. 

"What? So now we fuck?" The question came as they hit the country-side, leaving the European glitter of the Czech capital behind. _Come on, it is what we both know you are thinking._ "You pay me much money. I am your girl." 

"Don't you ever shut up?" Yorgi bit off harshly. "You have cute mouth, Yelena, but not so cute." It chaffed, because he had let a woman he knew less intimately than anyone of those prostitutes get to him. For a moment he had let his feelings read too clearly. Of course he had underestimated her! Yorgi wasn't used to dealing with someone of his calibre, someone who would twist the knife just to see how long it would take the wound to heal. "You are a ho." 

Yelena burst into raucous laughter and slouched against her seat, turning her head from left to right as she cackled. The Americanism was hilarious in itself, but coming from Yorgi … There was no reason to care for his name-calling, because he had started it and Yelena didn't want to get angry and show him she had been hurt too. _I cannot care for person I don't know or love. He is criminal, evil man who destroys lives for money. He disgusts me._ When Yelena calmed down, she sighed and stared serenely out the window. There was nothing to see except her own reflection. _Kirill is right. I am just girl from Moscow, down on my luck._ "You don't really mean that." 

But her quarry wasn't going to corroborate her assumption and the drive back seemed drawn out.   
  
  
  
Within the castle, the festivities of the Russian prince's subjects waxed furious. That everyone else was having a good time with one exception, pissed Yorgi off almost as much as Yelena's rebuff. All women are bitches! He thought absurdly and barked at Viktor, "Clear the whores out! Take them home!" 

"But, Yorgi, we –" 

"Do it!" He yelled, sending two daring flirts scampering back to their drugged-out flatmates lounging on the sofas. Behind him, Yelena stepped onto the cool marble of the wide cathedral-ceilinged hall. Frowning, his brown eyes tried to intimidate her confidence. And failed miserably. _Stupid bitch._ "Fucking bitch!" 

"Pig! Fuck you!" Yelena shouted right back. Jesus, she was losing the upper hand. If he suspected for one minute that she was untouchable he would go cold, cut her off except where business was concerned. How long would it take her to discover his secrets then? She may as well go back to her superiors in Moscow and tell them it was over. That she had nothing, would _never_ have _anything_! 

Kolya cracked a smile and pointed accusingly at Viktor busying himself herding the Czech girls towards the door. "See, what I tell you? You owe me money, comrade. Is not just quick fuck with him. He is in love with her." 

Yorgi pushed the double, carved oak doors to the bedroom open forcibly. They swung, creaking, and thumped against the symmetrical table décor. _Let her come or go to hell! Ia dav't ne artikl' sovokuiltiat'sia!_ I don't give a fuck! When he turned, Yelena was leaning patiently against the frame. 

"You are frog, you know this?" 

"I thought you said I am pig." 

"I change my mind." 

Yorgi sneered. "Leave. I'm not interested." 

"I give you kiss." Yelena cut him her side of the deal and maintained an approachable vulnerability to be on the safe side. "Maybe you turn into prince." Reaching out with both arms, she closed the doors behind her with a simultaneous click and moved towards his stand-offish figure, radiating seductive intent. Her dark bangs slipped over her right eye. 

Shaking his head, Yorgi pushed it back behind her ear. He only had one question and he asked it quietly, "Because I pay you?" 

Rogue strands remained stuck to Yelena's lipstick. Brushing them away, she revealed, "I don't want your money, only you." _And if nothing else about what you think you know about me is true, then at least this is._ That is why she must save her tears for later. _They send female agent for this reason. I will get over it._

Immune to her secret agent plot, trusting her whether she wanted it or not, Yorgi lowered his mouth to hers and captured her lips in a tender kiss, evolving passionately as Yelena stepped out of her shoes and pulled him to the bed with her.   
  
  
  
Lying on his back, idly stroking Yelena's tousled hair as she traced the outline of his tattoo down his torso, Yorgi asked, "What is your brother's name?" 

The tracery stopped and Yelena groaned into his shoulder. With a frustrated sigh the agent leaned on his chest and looked him squarely in the eyes, a testing smile playing on the corners of her pouting lips. "What is it with you and my brother? Why do you care?" 

"Because." The answer sounded ridiculous even in Yorgi's mind because he had never entertained the possibility. "I love you. I want to know everything about you. What is favourite food? What is favourite colour? What is brother's name?" 

The agent laughed. "Favourite food is chocolate, favourite colour is red." She paused, weighing the possibility that – at least if he still mistrusted her – he might use her brother against her. "And brother's name is Liev." Yelena leaned over and kissed him. It was a lie, of course. Another one, not important. If Yorgi was trying to recall if he'd served with a Liev Saransk he'd never get it right. The name didn't exist. "Now is my turn to ask questions!" The enthusiastic declaration subsided and she snuggled back down beside her. "Tell me about your family." 

"Kiri is little brother," Yorgi explained the obvious, using Kirill's childhood nickname. "Mother was Marta. Father was Yorgevny." 

"Was?" 

"They are dead." 

Yelena glanced at Yorgi when he mentioned it; his voice choked with bitter pain. Seeing the concern pooling in her beautiful brown eyes, he would only say, "Is long time ago. Is why everyone calls me Yorgi. Is why I join army. Is long story, you understand?" 

_Not really_, Yelena thought and promptly felt the poison of guilt work its way into her system. Try as she might to flush it out, she remained awake long after Yorgi had dozed off.   
  
  
  
In an attempt to scathe as much as shed the stifled jealously, Kirill greeted his brother as he entered the caged in security control room. "How did you sleep?" _With my love._

Yorgi chuckled appreciatively at the double-edged sword Kirill intended to thrust through him, but the euphoria of the previous night was still on him and he wasn't upset. The cheerful demeanour had given him an idea. He wanted to do something for Yelena. Flowers and chocolates he wouldn't buy and she wouldn't accept. How she would laugh in his face! But there was something else he could do for her. Even better, and she would appreciate it beyond words. "Alexi!" 

The computer geek coughed involuntarily as Yorgi clapped him on the back and straightened his glasses, looking from the porno-site-displaying monitor to his employer. "Dah?" 

"What is this shit?" Yorgi leaned over the young Russian's shoulder. "I want you to hack into Russian army database. Search for Liev Saransk. He is serving in Chechnya." 

"What's so important about him?" 

"Don't ask questions, Alexi," Yorgi warned with a satisfied grin. "Only call me when you find something." 

Kolya's eyes met his as Anarchy 99's ringleader approached him. "What's up?" 

"Is present, for Yelena. Her brother is fighting fucking Chechens." Yorgi spat. "She thinks he's dead. I don't think so, I have a feeling. I find him, get him out …" A casual shrug of shoulders and lips. The beefy East German nodded, appreciating Yorgi's plan. "He lives in Prague and everything is taken care of. It will make her happy. Is what I want for her." Looking harder at comrade, he asked, "Why are you smiling? You and Viktor make bet again?" 

Hearing their deep, male laughter, Yelena closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool wall of the hallway leading into the castle-sized room. Just a few more months of this charade, a few more months of faking it for Yorgi. And maybe she would hate herself forever. 

THE END 

A/N: I checked. Yorgi's not a real Russian name, so I guess it was a nickname or something. Yorgevny was about the closet I could get. Kolya is a Russian name, but I figure he looked more German in the movie :P 


End file.
